NYC

Home at Last

Regression is a funny thing. For the last 5 years, I’ve lived independently in a different country from where I’d lived my entire life. I’ve had to figure it out on my own. And I did – and there’s so much that has happened that I wouldn’t even imagine in my wildest dreams that night when I was putting my life in a suitcase before heading to NYC all by myself. Some would say I’ve become a better person, other’s would say I’m just a better version of who I always was – but nothing beats that feeling of going home. Leaving the big city life behind and falling straight back into the same shoes I was wearing 5 years ago. The same insecurities, the same anxiety. Feelings I had stowed away in a box in my bedroom in the medium sized city of Stavanger, Noway. They all came flying back the moment I stepped foot on Norwegian soil.

That being said, I’ve always loved my city. It’s neither big nor diverse, but it’s charming and takes pride in just how cozy it is. I used to love hanging out at café’s for hours, starting with a cup of tea and eventually ending up with ordering wine. There was not much to do, so we had to resort to quiet nights with great company and meaningful conversations.

Living in one of the world busiest cities has skewed the perception of time. The fact that we’re always rushing somewhere (or as Queen Clarisse would say – hasting somewhere) leaves less room for enjoying the moment, and taking a second to process and reflect. Before you know it, you’re in London and start freaking out about things that happened 6 months ago 🙂